


Another World, Another Time

by superthumb



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cassandra Pentaghast's Disgusted Noises, Dimension Travel, F/M, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Nothing is canon but some things are idek man, Original Male Pirate, Piracy, Pirates in Thedas, Slow Burn, Varric Tethras Is So Done, and lots more - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-02 21:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17271155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superthumb/pseuds/superthumb
Summary: "Look at it this way, Sniffles", Varric said with a grin. "If you're here, you're probably meant to be here. Otherwise you wouldn't be here at all."-Modern girl in Thedas, but PLOTTWIST, the game doesn't actually exist so nothing makes sense and everything is dangerously outrageous. Or outrageously dangerous. Whatever floats your boat.





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Woop. 
> 
> Posting my first story because I felt like I had to write to get stuff off my chest and I very recently started replaying Inquisition, soo this is what that resulted in. No idea how long this will be. No idea if I will finish it. I hope I will. 
> 
> It's another “modern girl in Thedas” bullcrap but this time the game doesn't actually exist. Like, at all. Thedas is just another… dimension, I guess. Another version of our world, if you will. So. Yeah. No game. Just other dimensions and magic and spooky stuff like that. 
> 
> Also! Whenever the OC doesn't understand what people are saying, I'm going to use portugese words and sentences (from Google Translate lol sorry) and alternate those. This is just because it made things easier for me, and portugese is an interesting language. I guess. I don't know. Anyways. Onward we go. 
> 
> Alsox2! All “portugese” sentences in every chapter will be translated in the end notes. 
> 
> Hope you somewhat enjoy!
> 
> And leave all the feedback (good and bad)! If you want! It would be much appreciated!

_Pain_. 

Sizzling, overpowering, _consuming_ pain.

Emma was pretty sure she’d never felt anything like this before. Her skin was on fire, it felt like, but at the same time she was so, so _cold_ . As if her body desperately fought to stay alive while at the same time having already given in to its fate. _Her_ fate.

 _I'm going to die, aren't I?_ she thought. There was no other explanation to what she was experiencing. Her mind; foggy. Her limbs; numb. Her head; pounding. The only thing she could make out in this dire situation was the excruciatingly vile odor of what her mind could only presume was burnt flesh and blood. Some smoke was mingled in there, too, but mostly _burnt flesh_ and _blood_. Somewhere in the distance she could hear screaming. Low to her ear but loud nonetheless. Wonderful.  

Treetops and a blue sky darkened by black smoke was all she could see. Treetops? Since when did she visit Central Park?

With a sudden surge of survival instinct, she tried to turn to her side, if only to look around and get a grasp of where she actually was and what had happened to her, but her _thigh_ . Her goddamn thigh sent a shockwave of agony through her whole being and she ended up screaming- _trying_ to scream to relieve some of the pain but all she managed was a low squeak for apparently her throat had died as well as her lungs. She was raw all over. Fragile. Broken. 

_What the fuck had happened?_

Had she been in an accident? Car crash? Had she been hit by a car? Had she been assaulted? Attempted murder? What the _fuck_ was going on?

As if hearing her mind, someone far away shouted something. It was not a scream for help or out of pain as usual. It was a shouted question for someone to answer. Though, in what language?

With a little waiting (there was little else she could do), the voice came closer, and closer until it was close enough for her to make out the actual words spoken.

“Er arguen al dora?”

What? Had she heard that language before? It felt familiar yet completely foreign.

Slowly, the voice came even closer, until it sounded as if the man that it belonged to was standing just a few paces from her right. How he didn't see her was beyond her completely, so in an attempt to get his attention she coughed. That was all her throat and lungs seemed to let her do. But it was enough apparently, as the manly voice became urgent, and she could hear him shuffling around in circles.

“Vosi core mei uvri? Dore esott vosi?”

She coughed again, and again, and suddenly she started to taste tangy, metallic blood on her tongue and the urge to cry overcame her like a crashing wave. But she couldn't cry. She had no tears to shed, so she opted for continuing her coughing until blood started spouting from her mouth like a demonic waterfall. It was tiring. Being in pain was so tiring and this daft man that spoke a language she did not know had still not found her so she closed her eyes.

 _Better go peacefully than to die in agony_ , she thought, fully accepting her fate of death. There was no point in fighting it now. She could literally feel the life and energy seeping out of her in synchronization with the slowing beat of her heart.

Then she felt a shift over her body, and the light from what she assumed was a nearby fire was obscured by something, dimming it significantly. Out of curiosity, she willed her eyes open to see a man - most likely the one who had been screaming for her - standing above her.

And then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

When she next awoke, she was surrounded by softness. Like clouds or cotton candy. Carefully letting her fingers sweep through it, she recognized it as fur.

And she was warm, too, but in a lovely way. Not like before. Not like the pain. This was comforting warmth, enveloping her whole body like one of those loving hugs her mom used to give her when she was a kid. But she was still hurting. Her throat felt… dead, and her thigh- Fuck, her thigh hurt like a bitch. She needed to see it.

Opening her eyes, she had expected a white, sterile hospital room. Some fluorescent lights hurting her eyes and a doctor or nurse in ugly mint-colored scrubs. But there was none of that. Instead, she was greeted with a wooden roof with intricate details carved into every available free space and the room lit up by dozens of candlelights scattered around. There was a smell as well, or rather a scent, sweet like honey but with something else there as well. Something bitter she'd never smelt before.

There was a sound, suddenly, of stone hitting stone and when she looked to her side she saw a woman - an elderly lady - bending over a wooden desk pressed into the corner right of where Emma was laying. The lady seemed to be grinding something that emitted that bitter smell, because it became more pungent the more she grinded. Quickly, it became too pungent for Emma's nose and she coughed, getting back that feel of rawness in her throat and the taste of blood on her tongue.

Obviously hearing the cough, the lady turned around and she was not at all what Emma had expected. She was dark, as in everything about her was dark. Her skin, her hair, her eyes, her clothes - her _clothes_. What the fucking hell was she wearing? It looked like a cloak from a fantasy movie. Reminded her a little of Darth Vader's choice of fashion, sans the mask.

With quick strides - too quick for someone her age for judging by the wrinkles in her cardboard skin, Emma judged she must be well over 80 - the dark lady walked over to the side of Emma's bed (cot?) and rested a hand on her cheek.

“Ardena estere”, the lady said, concern woven into her foreign words. Without letting Emma say anything in response - like asking for a translation and maybe an explanation as to why she seemed to be in a cottage out of the medieval times - she briskly walked back to her desk and continued grinding.

Emma tried to speak, but her voice was still broken it seemed, for all she managed was seething out nothing but air and then coughing violently again. With each cough, her chest rattled as if it were going to cave in on itself at any moment. The lady, clearly annoyed by this, turned around and gave Emma a stern look. As if she was scolding a child.

“Nat!” she yelled out. “Nata farlan! Nat.”

There it was again. Those strange words. From that strange language. Had she been out travelling before… the accident that led her to be hurt? She remembered her planned solo trip to Cape Verde, but that wasn't until a few months. Right? She had been home. Of this she's certain. She'd been home, on her way to work. It was important she got there on time, because she'd overslept. But… how does that explain this?

Jesus fucking Christ, had she been kidnapped by a cult? Terrorists? Rebels?

 _Rebels_? Of what?

Like a ghost the old lady appeared before Emma, effectively ending her trail of thought. Wordlessly, she handed her a cup with that same smell. Sweet like honey with an odd bitterness to it somewhere as well. She could imagine the taste just by smelling it. It would surely be awful.

How could she even trust this woman? What if it was poison? That would make a great cause of death, truly. Killed by trusting an old cult lady. No.

No way.

She had to get out. Somehow.

Setting the cup down on the little table next to the cot she’d been placed in, Emma started slowly turning around. Careful not to make any startling noises, she used both hands to lift her right thigh. She had to bite down so hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming that she actually drew blood. Or maybe that was her throat again. Who the fuck knew?

Moving her leg seemed simple enough compared to actually letting it go and leaning some weight onto it. With a graceless attempt at standing up, she instead toppled over, causing even more damage to her leg and seemingly her abdomen. She hadn't realized her ribs were aching until she landed on them.

The lady turned around, giving Emma an unreadable expression before walking to the door. She opened it halfway and shouted something, in a _very_ annoyed tone of voice, and instantly heavy steps were heard approaching from outside the room.

In the door opening, two men arrived, both seeming to wear… pirate clothing? _Pirates?_

“What… the…” Emma managed to wheeze out before once again succumbing to sizzling pain and then the world turned black once again.

 

* * *

 

Her thigh.

It didn't hurt. But someone was prodding it. Touching it. Rather inappropriately.

Blinking the world into view, she noted a man sitting at the edge of her cot. He was wearing clothes from another time. Pirate clothes. _Pirate_. He was one of the men who had come when she… embarrassingly fell from her cot in her lame, not entirely thought through attempt to escape.

 _Wonderful_.

Slowly rising to rest on her elbows, she stared the man down when he looked to her. He didn't seem all that surprised to notice her awake, nor by the anger woven into her features.

“Where…” she managed to wheeze out before her voice abandoned her again. _Wonderful_.

The man gently rested a hand on her thigh - a motion she found too intimate for two strangers but he didn't mind at all - and told her something with a rapid tongue in that language she didn't understand. When he was done he paused, and when Emma didn't react with anything other than looking perplexed, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly agitated. Why he was agitated when she was the one held fucking hostage by… _a pirate cult_ was completely  beyond her.

They were probably die hard _Pirates of the Caribbean_ fanatics. Making up their own language to honor the movies. The guy on her cot did look fairly similar to Johnny Depp. She hoped that was all similarities they shared, for the sake of herself.

“Vosi nat mei entera?” he asked when she didn't respond to his previous monologue, this time enunciating as if she were slow.

 _No, you fucktard,_ she wanted to scream. _I don't understand you at all, so talking slower doesn't help one fucking bit._

How was it possible he didn't understand English? But, then again, all she'd managed to utter was a broken _what_ and to some that might not be enough to recognize the language. So, put simply, she is utterly fucked until she can gain her voice and strength back. _Wonderful_.

The man - called Jack Sparrow for now - sighed again, then got up from the cot and walked to the door. He shouted something, got a response from another man and then he walked back into the room. He grabbed a vial from the desk where the old lady had been grinding stuff from before and then walked back to the Emma on the cot. Gently he sat himself down on the same spot as before, handing the vial to Emma with a strangely comforting expression.

She wanted to ask what it was, and somehow, he must've read it in her expression. Carefully, he touched a finger to her thigh, then her ribs, then her throat and lastly her head. Then he pointed to the vial, mimicked the act of drinking it and then made a content face, almost smiling. It would have been endearing, had he not also scared her half to death.

But, she got the gist of it. _Drink this. It'll make the ache lessen._

So she did, figuring she had no better option anyway. The ache was there, bearable for now but she could feel the tingling indicating it would get worse anytime now, and either way she couldn't escape. She could still barely move her leg without assistance from her arms, and if the liquid was meant to kill her… Well. It wouldn't pose a problem for her if she wasn't even alive.

It tasted exactly how it smelled. Sweet at first and then so bitter she almost wanted to puke. She didn't, but the way she scrunched her face in disgust made the man - Jack - smile and nod in what appeared to be a friendly manner. Like he agreed. That the liquid was indeed horrid.

“Et sien”, he said then, very gently, and patted the thigh that wasn't feeling like it had been run over by a bus fifteen times in a row. “Et var lutar doro Alina. Estrora.”

He walked out the door then, leaving it slightly ajar which let Emma get a glimpse of what was outside. She'd imagined it would be a hallway or something, in the same wooden style as this strange room, but no. Daylight poured through the opening so bright she was almost blinded by it, and when her eyes adjusted enough she spotted a clear blue sky and more wooden flooring, stretching as far as her eye could see.

Then, just as she heard voices outside, the old lady from before entered the room and closed the door behind her with a definitive _thump_.

She turned towards Emma, said something very gently while grabbing a chair which she placed beside the cot and then smiled. A toothless smile. For some reason it made Emma's heart settle slightly. The lady sat herself down in the chair, grabbed something from the end table near Emma's head and… began knitting. _Knitting_.

What in the actually fuck? What kind of cult was this? They didn't murder her, they didn't put her on a spit and roasted her to eat, they didn't chop her up and barely even touched her. She was grateful they didn't, but at the same time very perplexed. This wasn't what she was used to reading about when it came to cults. Not that she'd ever read up on a lot to begin with, but still.

“Saro et…” the lady said suddenly, meeting Emma's very confused stare. She pointed her knitting needles at her own chest. “...Alina. Saro et Alina. A-li-na.”

 _Alina_. It must be her name.

“Kel et vosi?” she said then, pointing the needles at Emma's chest with a raised eyebrow. “Kel et vosi?”

 _What's your name?_ Or _who are you?_

For some reason, there was no hesitation whatsoever. It felt more than natural to tell this woman her name, and she realized it might be a trick. They might use this seemingly harmless old woman as some sort of bait or cover up for their true intentions, but at the moment it didn't seem to matter. The old lady was nice, and Emma's body didn't hurt like hell anymore, which was partly due to this lady before her.

“Em…” she managed before her voice gave out.

The lady didn't seem to notice there was more to come. Or she just didn't care. “ _Em,_ hm?” she said, smilingly shaking her head as if she couldn't believe it. “Eskirilo. Mote eskirilo.”

There was little else Emma could do other than just stare at the lady as she continued with her knitting, humming a tune sometimes that seemed very… old. Like one of those ancient poems someone decided to make a song out of. Though, Emma couldn't recognize this one.

When it was evident the lady was not going to say anything else, and Emma had somewhat come to accept she wasn't going to be able to speak for a little while now, she settled back into her bed - _cot_ \- and stared up at the ceiling, trying to make some sense of this extremely bizarre situation she found herself in. Starting with facts.

Fact: she had been in some sort of accident and she had injured herself badly.

Fact: she had been found by some common man who had apparently brought her here, a place that looked taken out of a movie set.

Fact: the lady that apparently was taking care of her was not out to kill her. At least not yet.

Fact: she was unsure of where she was, but it sure as hell wasn't Manhattan.

Fact: nobody seemed to speak English.

Five facts. Not much to go on. So, then came the speculations.

Theory: these people belong to a cult worshipping pirates and they, for some reason, have decided to care for her. Maybe to kill her?

Theory: she had been kidnapped from the scene of the accident, and brought here by this cult that is soon going to kill her when they realize she doesn't belong here at all.

Theory: kidnapped again, but to another country. Canada?

With an almost inaudible sigh, Emma felt tears starting to form, pooling in the corner of her eyes. This was all ridiculous, and she felt so fucking powerless. She couldn't speak to beg these people to take her home, and they didn't seem to be in any rush to help her more than just giving her some sort of potion that tasted like shit. There had got to be some way for her to communicate something. Right? If she didn't try, she might very well die here, and that wasn't exactly what she wanted.

With renewed motivation to reach out to the old lady, Emma slowly reached out her hand to get her attention. Alina looked up, curiosity shining in her black eyes, and tilted her head to the side.

She asked Emma something, but as she didn't have her voice back yet, Emma mimicked writing instead. As if she had picked up a pen and started writing on her hand. Alina seemed to understand immediately, and she excitedly clapped her hands together and walked over to that desk again. There she grabbed a piece of paper - parchment? - and was just about to walk back to Emma's bed when two men burst through the door. One of them was Jack, the one who had been in here before, but the other she didn't recognize at all. Jack looked distressed and the other man seemed furious, judging by the frown accompanied with a deathly snarl occupying his face.

The other man - Angry Dude - yelled something at Alina, who yelled something back, which resulted in Jack stepping between the two and shouting something of his own. Angry Dude seemed to go mental by this, and-

-and unsheathed a fucking _sword_.

 _Is this how I die, then?_ Emma thought _. Slaughtered by a pirate cult guy’s_ sword.

At this, Alina went mental. She walked up to Angry Dude and poked his chest, all the while yelling up into his face. It was quite fascinating to see - an old, tiny lady screaming at an angry, tall, bulky man with a goddamn sword in his hand. It seemed to work, though. Angry Dude looked at Alina, then at Emma, then at Jack, who said something very calmly, and then Angry Dude stalked out of there again. Left behind was complete silence, until Alina threw the parchment she was still holding on the ground and stalked out after him. Before leaving the room completely though, she turned to Emma with a sort of comforting smile, and then to Jack.

“Fitur ton Em”, she said seriously, then walked outside.

Em? What about Em?

Emma's gaze locked with Jack's when he turned around to look at her, and though she had been scared he would look just as murderous as Angry Man, it felt comforting to see his expression of intrigue. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes as well, but since Emma couldn't ask, she didn't dwell upon it.

“Em?” he said after a while, slowly coming closer to the bed. “Vosi et Em, nat?”

She understood the question. _You're Em, right?_ She nodded.

There was no doubt in her mind that this man wanted nothing harmful with her, but she still shied back when he took another step closer. This whole scenario was so overwhelmingly _unreal_ that everything felt scary. She felt so out of control, so if she could keep his distance until she actually wanted to be closer (not that she ever thought that would happen) she was going to try. At least then there was something she could decide for herself.

“Saro et Cade”, he said then, pointing at his own chest. “Vosi et Em.” He pointed to her. “Saro et Cade.” Back to himself.

_I am Cade. You are Em._

She nodded again to show she understood. Then grinned when she was overcome with a memory from her childhood. Wasn't this what happened between Tarzan and Jane when they first met? Not that she thought she and this Cade would meet the same fate as Jane and Tarzan, but the similarities were still there, and it was a small comfort. She _remembered_ things.

Motivated by Emma's grin, _Cade_ , took another step closer and smiled when she didn't press herself into her pillow. 

“Em”, he said suddenly to get her full attention back. It was still strange hearing him say her name. Even if it wasn't her full name it was still odd. He had an accent when saying it. Almost indistinguishable, but still very much there. “Vosi kormar cor sexa dairas.”

She didn't understand. He didn't seem to mind.

“Vosi”, he said, slowly, and pointed to her. “Kormar.” Now he imitated sleeping, pressing his palms together before pressing them to his cheek and tilting his head into them. “Cor sexa.” He held up six fingers. “Dairas.” He made a half moon, drawing it from his right to his left.

_You've been asleep for six days._

Wow. That was slightly unexpected. She imagined she'd been sleeping a lot since she was so gravely injured, but… _six days?_ That was a very long time. People at home must be missing her. Right? Why hadn't anyone found her, yet?

“Em”, Cade said again. “Vosi et mote-”

But before he could actually finish his sentence, not that she understood it anyway, a man came rushing through the door, looking absolutely panicked. He shouted something at Cade, who instantly turned towards Emma, and he actually looked _scared_. Which scared her. A lot.

Explaining - or, that's at least what Emma suspected he was doing - in his own tongue, he frantically searched through the drawers of the desk Alina used to grind and brew and whatever else that lady was up to. When he found what he was looking for, he quickly walked over to Emma and without warning picked her up bridal style. The pain was instantaneous, and she let out a wheeze of agony. Cade said something to her, sounding genuinely apologetic, and carried her outside.

They were hit by direct sunlight, and the smell of salty sea water, murky tree decaying and smoke. Her head felt heavy but she still managed to tilt it to the side, catching a quick glimpse of… a medieval harbor?

It looked taken out of a Tolkien story. Open ocean as far as the eye could see, wooden bridges, large ships docking, people trading, fishermen selling. It looked so… _medieval_.

Cade suddenly shouted something at someone behind them, and then they started running. The piercing pain was back instantaneously, her thigh and ribs feeling like they were on fire. She felt herself slipping out of consciousness just as Cade looked down on her in his arms. She was sure he was saying something, softly, but she could neither hear or understand.

When she closed her eyes, a loud boom echoed over the harbor and chaos erupted.


	2. At Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and commenting, and leaving kudos! Very appreciated since this is just a baby still. This is not a very exciting chapter, but it's... something. I don't know. Enjoy?

Emma has, during her 24 years of age, woken up and found herself in many horrendous situations. 

Some involved her mother, either angry or annoyed for some reason unbeknownst to the rest of the world, and some involved being slapped in the face by a visiting younger cousin, mad at her for just being her. Once, she had been pushed into a pool after falling asleep on a lounge chair too close to the edge when she was supposed to be cutting the grass of the hotel she worked at. All rather unpleasant, but never had she been woken up under circumstances such as these.

Cold water was thrown onto her face and she startled awake. When she opened her eyes she came face to face with… feet. Bare, dirty feet. And they stank.

Shuffling away in alarm, she raised her gaze and looked up at the owner of the feet. A tall, bulky man that she’d never seen before stood before her. Pale blue sky stretched behind him and seagulls squeaking could be heard loud and clear.

“Saro et Anselmo”, the man said, then yanked her up rather violently from the ground by her arm.

Without another word and despite her struggling and wheezing because of the pain in her leg, he dragged her a few paces away and pushed her inside an opened door. At the force of his push, she fell to her knees in front of him and before she could muster the strength to raise her head herself, Anselmo came up behind her and grabbed her face with both hands, tilting up so she'd meet the face of the boss apparently.

It was a woman and she was not at all what Emma had expected. Fairly young - though her weathered skin made her look slightly older than she probably was - and strong, muscular, with long black hair cascading down her back. The hairs around her face had been tucked away under a blue bandana. Had she not been carrying scars across her entire left cheek and looked like she wanted to flog every person that crossed her path, Emma would bet she'd be rather beautiful.

While Anselmo held Emma still, the woman walked around her, staring, measuring,  _ scrutinizing _ . It was quite obvious there was not going to be a kind interrogation, as the pirate cult woman unsheathed a dagger from her thigh and pressed it against her prisoner's throat, which made Emma want to laugh and cry at the same time.

_ Ridiculous bullshit crazy people,  _ she thought.

“Kel et vosi?” the woman asked, and Emma - though her mind was still hazy and confused by too many incidents and impressions pushed onto her during a very short amount of time - actually understood.

_ Who are you? _

Her throat was still sore so she guessed her voice was still out, too, but as she seemed able to get out shorter, simpler words, she tried.

“Em”, she managed without coughing. She figured it'd be better to be compliant than disobedient and rebellious, seeing as she had a literal dagger pressed to her skin.

The dagger was actually real. Oh so very, very real. She could feel the cold of the blade against her. The sharpened steel reminded her that she was in actual danger here. These people were  _ not _ messing around.

“Em”, the woman muttered, pressing the blade a little harder into Emma's skin. “Orde et vosi te?”

She didn't understand that one, and she was pretty sure her voice wouldn't let her answer since she had started tasting blood again, so she shook her head. The man behind her, Anselmo, pressed his hands tighter against her skin. He was very strong. It felt like he was strong enough to break her skull if he just pressed a tiny bit harder, and it scared the living shit out of her.

“Orde et vosi te?” the woman repeated, clearly agitated with the lacking results of her interrogation.

Emma couldn't answer. She demonstrated this by trying to speak, resulting once again in awful wheezing and a coughing fit so serious that the woman backed away and Anselmo actually let go of her completely. She could still feel him hovering behind her, ready to intervene if she tried anything, but she guessed her violent coughing seemed real enough to them that they let her be.

During her coughing fit, she heard someone burst inside, voice annoyed as they rapidly spoke in that damn language again. Before she could register what was happening, a familiar face appeared before her - Alina - and the old woman shoved a vial I  her face, urging her to drink it.

“Ratipa, ratipa”, Alina said, and Emma could only guess it meant  _ hurry up _ because the old lady looked urgent, almost worried.

Guiding the vial to Emma's lips, Alina helped her tip her head back and drink it in one go. The liquid was just as disgusting as she remembered, but it eased the coughing instantly and Emma could breathe again. There was no metallic taste anymore, either, and she sighed in relief. Alina smiled gently and patted Emma on the shoulder before she stood and face the younger woman.

“Isabela”, Alina said, before diving into an argumentative monologue. She seemed to be defending Emma, or at least explaining her inability to speak, because she gesticulated a lot. It made Emma wonder if the old lady did it so she could understand what they were talking about.

She had to guess a lot, but she managed to understand most of what Alina said from her expressive gestures. Emma had been injured in an explosion of some sort. The incident had gravely injured her throat (punctured something?) and thus Emma couldn't talk. Not yet at least.

Then she moved on to other subjects. From the little things Emma had somehow managed to pick up during her brief time as the pirate cult people's captive, Alina was mentioning Isabela and Em a lot. She seemed to be explaining. The other woman - Isabela - looked sceptical throughout the whole ordeal, but she eventually muttered something at the old lady, turned to spit at the ground and then just left the room. Anselmo stayed, though, but he wasn't hovering behind Emma like a guard ready to interfere anymore. Now he stood to the side, watching her carefully as Alina crouched down before her.

“Em”, she said gently. “Vosi kresina donida.”

Then she mimed the act of eating, and Emma nodded eagerly. She had been so focused on not dying or getting killed that she had completely forgotten she probably hadn't eaten anything substantial for quite some time now. At the mere hint to get food in her, her stomach growled loudly, making Alina smile slightly before she helped Emma stand up.

Together, with Anselmo following closely behind, they staggered out of the room through the door they had all come from, and stepped out onto a deck. A ship's deck.

She was on a fucking  _ ship _ . A  _ wooden _ fucking ship.

And it was  _ moving _ .

Before she could even properly digest this new information, Alina guided her towards a staircase leading below deck. Emma and the old lady - who started to feel like some sort of guardian angel in this utter madness - struggled for quite a while to descend the steps without hurting Emma too much. It eventually got to the point where Anselmo finally had enough, and instead picked Emma up bridal style without warning and climbed down the steps wordlessly.

With Emma still in his arms, Anselmo turned a sharp right after the staircase and rounded a corner until they found themselves in a small kitchen. Well, a rustic, medieval room that was supposed to work as a kitchen. A man, whom Emma presumed was the ship's chef, stood with his back towards them, chopping what appeared to be onions. When Alina said something to him, he jerked his elbow in the direction of a huge pot.

As Anselmo still carried Emma, and didn't seem to plan on letting her down anytime soon, Alina filled a wooden plate with some gooey, grey mess and grabbed a few pieces of bread. When she seemed satisfied, she started walking further below deck and Anselmo followed wordlessly, still with Emma in his arms.

They walked around crooks and corners, cannons, possibly some crew members drinking a bottle of what could only be alcohol until they finally arrived in a more secluded corner full of barrels and crates. Alina calmly set down the plate of food on a barrel and pulled up two crates on either side of it, before turning to Emma and Anselmo expectantly.

_ Ah. A makeshift table with chairs _ .  _ Clever. _

Anselmo put Emma down on one of the crates with surprising care compared to the last time he had held her, and Alina took her place in the crate opposite Emma's. The food - if it even could be called that - smelled nothing short of awful, but her hunger took over any sense whatsoever and she shoved a spoon of the grey mess into her mouth, reason and caution long gone.

It tasted… bland. Almost nothing. The texture was strange, too. Like porridge and stew combined. Horrible under any other circumstance, but right now it felt like the most heavenly thing she had ever put on her tongue.

Before she could shovel more into her mouth, Alina quickly grabbed her wrist.

“Dertagemle, Em”, she said. Then she pretended to eat quickly, like she had been starved for days and shook her head. “Nat.” She pretended to eat again, but this time slower. Much, much slower. “Sui. Dertagemle.”

_ Slowly. Eat slowly. _

So, she did. She figured since Alina had saved her life -  _ twice  _ already - and been careful of her more than anybody else in this inexplicably odd situation she was in, that it was probably best. The woman had shown nothing but kindness and consideration toward Emma, but she was not fool enough to think it would last. Alina was obviously a healer of some sort for these people, and if their cult culture worked anything like the normal ones, doctors and healers were considerate of those they called patients. So, by logic, Emma figured she wouldn't be able to depend on Alina like she did now whenever she got well enough. Alina was one of  _ them _ , after all, and despite it being easy to forget that, Emma would make sure she didn't. Wrinkled skin and no teeth would not fool her.

Alina sat silently while she kept an eye on Emma's place while eating. Anselmo, who had probably been told to stand guard, did not say much, either. He would sometimes spit out something that sounded vulgar even to Emma, but Alina paid his outbursts no attention so neither did Emma.

It was still unnerving to be watched. Especially by Anselmo. His eyes seemed to have a way of boring through her flesh and into her skull.

When the plate was empty, the three of them made their way back up on deck. Alina in the lead and Emma in Anselmo's arms. On deck, Emma was put down on the floor, with a bucket of water and a dirty rag. Locking gazes with Alina only confirmed what she had guessed.

“Rindar”, Alina said, then walked over to sit on a barrel by the taffrail,  _ knitting _ again.

_ Clean _ .  _ Scrub the floor. _

So, this was how they were going to use her for now? Scrubbing the deck? She figured it was somewhat of a blessing, as her leg still wasn't working and her understanding of their language had not miraculously improved over the span of a day. She figured if they'd put her to do something more physically or mentally craving she would've disappointed them all and would probably end up flung into the ocean. She didn't know shit about ships or how they worked and no one would be able to explain it to her, either, so scrubbing the deck was fine. It was actually rather lovely. She could keep to herself and think for a moment.

She tried to remember what little she'd learned in school about using the sky as a compass or clock. The sun was still up, but it was soon sundown, so the direction the sun was setting had to be west. So, the ship was headed south, then, apparently. To where? Florida? What could be found there? Another pirate cult?

Maybe Mexico? Or down to Havana? Tobago? Maybe they actually held out there? In old pirate territories and such?

_ Holy fuck. _

To reel herself back in, she started with the basics. How had she even gotten here?

She remembered her morning before… everything went crazy. She’d overslept, so she was late to work and that meant she was in a hurry. All she had carried with her was her wallet, and an apple that was supposed to serve as her breakfast. She was meant to eat it on her way, but she couldn't… because no taxis stopped for her, so she’d been jogging. After a block or two she had been forced to slow down, though. She had never been in any shape to jog for more than two minutes.

Then she… What did she do after that?

Earphones. She'd worn earphones, and she’d been listening to an old playlist.

Coldplay!

Old Coldplay songs had been playing and she’d… There had been lights. Very bright car lights. And honking. Loud as hell. Had she been hit by a car? But there had also been a strong green light. Green like… limes. Lime green, but brighter somehow. And darker. At the same time.

And then she had passed out.

She had been in the thick of the city. Running down busy streets and then she had passed out. But, how had she been transferred to a medieval like port belonging to these people without anybody noticing? And how had they gotten to be in the city since none of them seemed to be able to talk English? 

Her head started pounding all of a sudden. Too many questions, too many possibilities and too many theories. All at once. She needed to cut back to facts again, but before she could get started, someone stepped onto the tiny space of floor sh had scrubbed as clean as one could get with the rag she’d been given.

It was Cade. The man from the little hut on the docks. He had carried her from it when… it was attacked?

Again he interrupted her mind before it went spiraling down an endless staircase of questions. Bending down, the man grabbed the rag from her and pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Vela”, he sighed before grabbing her upper arm and lifting her more easily than he should have been able to. He walked in close, too close, then positioned his shoulder under her armpit for support while holding onto her arm that was now slung around his shoulders, slowly guiding her back to the staircase leading below deck.

It took time, but he didn't seem to mind. Eventually they got to a small hammock hanging in the corner of what in reality looked like a storage room. Cade gently sat her down in the hammock, then mimed sleeping before turning to walk away.

She hadn't realized, but she was rather fatigued now that she gave herself time to think on it. Her eyelids felt very heavy as soon as she rested her head back, but she managed to keep them open long enough to see Anselmo approach, carrying something she couldn't quite make out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kel et vosi? - Who are you? 
> 
> Orde et vosi te? - Where are you from?
> 
> Ratipa - Quickly
> 
> Vosi kresina donida - You need food 
> 
> Dertagemle - Slowly 
> 
> Sui - Yes
> 
> Rindar - Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Er arguen al dora? - Is anybody out there? 
> 
> Vosi core mei uvri? - Can you hear me? 
> 
> Dore esott vosi? - Where are you? 
> 
> Ardena estere - Just wait
> 
> Nat - No 
> 
> Nata farlan - Don't speak 
> 
> Vosi nat mei entera? - Do you not understand me? 
> 
> Et sien - I know 
> 
> Et var lutar doro Alina - I'm going to get Alina 
> 
> Estrora - Wait 
> 
> Saro et Alina - I am Alina 
> 
> Kel et vosi? - Who are you? 
> 
> Mote eskirilo - Very odd 
> 
> Fitur ton Em - Stay with Em 
> 
> Vosi et Em, nat? - You are Em, no? 
> 
> Vosi kormar cor sexa dairas - You have slept for six days
> 
> Vosi et mote... - You are very...


End file.
